Starsky's Big Break
by Starsky's Strut
Summary: Starsky spots a bad guy. A talent agent spots Starsky. Hutch spots some trouble ahead.


Sweet Eli told me about this idea she had. My muse just ran with it, so it's a good thing she gave me permission to use it. Some of the plots and other things in this story may be quite familiar to some of you. I borrowed them, but only for fun and entertainment; I hold no rights to any of those things. Ummm, this should make more sense after you read the story…

Eli, I hope you like where I went with this…Thanks for suggesting taking a break from that long S&H story I'm working on. Great idea my friend!

**Starsky's Big Break **

By Starsky's Strut

"Hutch! Hutch! You ain't gonna believe this!" The curly haired detective bounced into the squad room, vibrating with excitement. He darted over to his chair and pulled it out so he could sit on it, Starsky style, i.e. - Feet where the butt should go; butt on the top rung of the back of the wooded seat –where nothing should go.

The blond looked up from his typing and arched a single blond eyebrow skyward. He took note of his friend's flushed face and bouncy demeanor. He suppressed a smile as the sight reminded him of Tigger, of Whinnie the Pooh fame. Part of the 'Tigger song' floated through his head, _'The wonderful thing about Tiggers, is Tiggers are wonderful things…'_ He struggled mightily to keep the smile from his face at the notion. And was quite proud of himself when he succeeded.

Hutch bent his head down and pretended to be far more interested in typing the report then the cause of Starsky's excitement. It was a game he constantly played with his partner, only Starsky was not privy to that fact. Well, at least he really _hoped_ his buddy didn't realize it.

And Hutch intended to keep it that way, for he was vastly entertained by Starsky being vastly entertained by the strangest things. Louise, the chinchilla that turned out to be guinea pig (which Starsky still kept as a pet), wasting money on 'pet rocks' and that god awful idea that he had had just last week, something about picking up road kill for money and calling this idea 'road kill riches'. _"We'll make millions Hutch, just think about it!"_

Hutch did think about it, for about a nano second. He had to think of something else quickly so he wouldn't burst out laughing and tip Starsky off that he was tickled by the idea. He then proceeded to punch logical holes in Starsky's latest 'get rich quick' scheme. It was all part of Hutch's long standing game between them.

"Hutch? HUTCH!"

"WHAT?" Hutch snapped at being so abruptly yanked from his private thoughts.

"You're not listening to me; didn't ya hear anything I said?" Dark blue eyes gleamed at him from across the desktop. Starsky's whole body quivered with barely restrained excitement.

Hutch briefly wondered how anyone could move so much and be sitting still at the same time. Only Starsky could manage that trick. "I'm trying to get this report done. Dobey wanted it yesterday."

"No, I wanted it _last_ week Tuesday, not _this_ week Tuesday," Captain Dobey barked as he poked his head out of his office door. Noting the look in Hutch's eye, he cut him off at the pass "Don't even think about putting off another day, Hutchinson. Your butt stays in that chair until you finish that report."

Hutch watched as Starsky tensed, waiting for Dobey to yell at him for being late for work.

Dobey glared at Hutch for another few seconds before pulling his head back into his office and slamming the door shut.

The tension eased out of his partner and the excited look was back on Starsky's face, "Hutch, I got it! You're never, ever gonna believe this!"

"Is it contagious?" Hutch chicken-pecked at the typewriter keys, just so Dobey would stay in his office, for despite the usual racket in the squad room, the captain had the uncanny ability to hear if Hutch stopped typing for more then a few seconds.

"Is what contagious?" A puzzled looked crossed the brunet's face.

"What you've got… Is it contagious?" Hutch asked, making sure to hit a few keys as he did so, just to keep Dobey at bay.

"No, I just got my big break! This is it!" Starsky dug into his pocket and pulled out his wallet, pulled out a small paper rectangle and waved it under Hutch's nose.

"Hold it still so I can read it." Hutch banged another word out on the typewriter.

"I'll read it so's you can keep typing, this-" Starsky paused dramatically and held on to each end of the small card "this is my ticket outta here. This happens to be the name, address and _working_ phone number of Osmond T. Goodbody. _The _Osmond T. Goodbody."

Hutch looked up from his typing and gave his partner a nonplused stare. "So?" He went back to typing.

"He's _the_ talent scout. _The talent scout_. The number _ONE _talent scout in _Hollywood_."

Hutch felt his stomach clench. _Of course_ he had heard of Osmond T. Goodbody. Everyone in the entire western hemisphere knew who Osmond T. Goodbody was. He was THE talent scout. And he had found Starsky. Hutch could feel his mouth drying up. He forced himself to keep up the nonchalant attitude "Again, so?"

"He wants ME to be in a commercial. Me! He said I would be perfect, bein' a cop an' all." Starsky's whole face was lit up with his overwhelming enthusiasm.

"A commercial? That's it?" The knot in the blond's gut eased a bit. He clacked a few more keystrokes for fend off the possibility of another _Dobey _attack.

Starsky shook his head, as though explaining something to someone rather dim witted, "Hutch, Hutch, Hutch… ya gotta start small… ya know, I might be the next Paul Muney… Ma'll be so proud – Ohmygod! I gotta call Ma!" Starsky snatched the phone and started to dial the number.

Dobey's office door swung open, "Not on that phone you won't! Call you mother from the pay phone or your home phone! Not the WORK phone!" Dobey slammed the door shut. And promptly opened it back up again "That report isn't going to type itself Hutchinson!" Bang! The plaques on the office wall some how managed to stay there, though several bounced wildly away from the wall and back again.

There was a smattering of snickers from the other officers in the room.

Starsky guiltily set the handset back in its cradle and gave Hutch a sheepish grin.

Hutch scratched his head and wondered how Dobey had known Starsky was going to call his mother and figured the man must be listening at his door. He quickly typed out a few more words.

Starsky adjusted his seat, "So anyway, he wants me to be in this commercial, they're gonna shoot it this weekend. Goodbody is gonna have a script sent to me later today and I was wonderin' if you could help learn my lines…" Brunet brows climbed upwards. "Please?"

"Now hold on there partner, this is all happening pretty fast. When did you meet Goodbody?" Hutch stabbed at the keys, deliberately making as much noise as he could so Dobey would stay in his office.

"Well, I was drivin' to work and I see this guy grab this lady's purse. So I hit the breaks, leapt out of the Torino and run the guy down… the scum had knocked down this sweet little old lady to get her bag, so I knocked him down and dragged him back to where she was. I cuffed 'im and returned her purse. The poor sweet thing was hurt, so I had to call for an ambulance for her, ya know, I really hate scum who rough up old ladies-"

"Starsky! Could you speed it up? I gotta get this report done sometime soon." Hutch angrily stabbed his fingers into the keyboard.

"Speed it up? Huh, normally you want me to slow it down." The brunet snarked.

Hutch raised his right hand and pointed his index at his partner, stabbing the air with extra emphasis.

Starsky rolled his eyes, "I was getting' ta that. So, after the ambulance leaves, this guy walks up and tells me who he is, hands me this card and tells me he wants me to be in a commercial he's casting for." Starsky stood up on the chair and put his fists on his hips and struck a dramatic pose. "Goodbody said he wanted a cop 'type' and well, since I'm a cop, he said I was perfect!"

"I doubt that." Hutch muttered under his breath.

Starsky frowned down at him for a second "You're just jealous." He stood up on the chair and turned his head from side to side, "Which is my best side? This side? Or this side?" he repeated the action.

"Your backside," Sheila from I & R said as she plunked down a ten-inch high pile of files in front of Hutch. "Dobey wants you to retype your reports in these records, according to him, they're not complete. And this-" She reached up and patted Starsky's tush "is defiantly your best side." She then swished her way out the door.

Hoots and catcalls from the other officers in the room drowned out Starsky's response to Sheila's actions. The brunet repositioned himself on the chair, settling his butt down on the top rung once again. He gave Hutch a wicked grin.

Hutch ducked his head and hammered away at the keys. He was gonna be here _forever_ typing this crap up. He sped up his typing and several keys jammed just before hitting the paper. "Dammit!" He picked at the piled up keys, untangling the mess. _Maybe someone would invent a way to type that didn't have keys that log jammed if you typed too quickly. Right, like that'll ever have this happen, _he sighed and picked away at the jam, noting that there was now a large ink smudge in the middle of the page. Another page, ruined.

"Problems?" Starsky snickered.

"No!" The irate blond jerked the ruined report out of the typewriter, knocking over the liquid paper onto the pristine first page of said report. "FU-"

"Hutchinson!" Dobey bellowed, cutting the man off in mid curse. "Bring me that page you finished, the chief is gnawing on my backside, I have to show him I'm making _some_ progress." He snapped his fingers.

Hutch felt his face redden with anger as he started to rise from his seat.

Starsky interceded. "Sorry Cap, I just accidentally knocked over the white liquid paper stuff on the report." He handed the damaged sheet to the big man. "Here, you take now and I'll retype it later."

"Harrumph!" Dobey grumbled something under his breath as he snatched the paper from Starsky. "Hutchinson, you're not typing anything!" the big man shut the door.

Starsky smiled blissfully at Hutch.

Hutch just couldn't understand it. Why wasn't Dobey yelling at Starsky for being late?

The door reopened. Hutch ducked his head and returned to his typing, but he surreptitiously watched Dobey give Starsky a long, hard stare. _'Here it comes,' _Hutch thought_ 'it's about time, too.'_

"Starsky, why can't you sit in a chair like a normal person?" The office door slammed shut again. One of the wall plaques fell to the floor with a bang.

Hutch gaped at the door for a long moment, his puzzlement was quickly replaced with snippiness, "Because he's not normal, never has been." The blond carped as he snagged another report form and threaded it into the typewriter. He began typing at a furious pace.

A piece of plaster, loosened by years of vibrations from the slamming of Dobey's office door, finally gave way and landed on the typewriter. Bits of plaster and dust drifted down coating Hutch with a very fine layer of white powder. He stiffened up and glared at each person in the room, at last fixing his eyes on his _soon-to-be-dead-if-he-so-much-as-laughed_ partner.

Silence fell in the squad room. The others looked to Starsky, prepared to follow his lead. If he laughed, they would join in. The brunet gave a slow shake of his head and everyone returned to their work. Quiet murmurs and the shuffling of paper was all that was heard.

Hutch maintained his icy glare at his friend. After several long seconds, he broke eye contact and started to brush off the dust from himself and his paperwork. Silently he thanked Starsky for not laughing. It wasn't Starsky's fault he was having a bad day. He looked at the mess before him.

Starsky handed him a paper towel dampened with water from the cooler.

Hutch nodded and took it gratefully.

"So, as I was saying before, this little piece of paper is my ticket to freedom, to stardom!" He held the card up and waved it around, "I'm Hollywood bound, baby!" Starsky kissed the card and then carefully put it back in his wallet.

Hutch tossed the now soiled towel towards the trashcan, using perfect basketball form. The towel hit the rim. And fell on to the floor. He closed his eyes and counted to ten. Upon opening his eyes, he began to pick bits of plaster out of the typewriter, he deliberately dropped them on the floor; not caring in the least that Starsky was frowning at him. "So? Where is he?"

"Where's who?" The frown deepened as another bit of plaster hit the floor.

"Starsky!" Dobey's door swung open, the big man filled the frame.

'_Finally!' _ Hutch thought, _'finally he's gonna yell at Starsky for being late!'_

"Starsky, I just got a call from the chief. He's heard about that purse snatcher you nabbed this morning on your way to work. He told me to tell you did a good job. Nice work. Oh and be sure to put down the time on your time card. Looks like you managed to start early today." The captain closed the door again.

Starsky turned back towards Hutch and gave him a gloating smile. He bobbed his eyebrows up and down twice.

Hutch threw a bit of plaster at him. It missed, of course. At least Dobey hadn't yelled at him again. Maybe his luck was starting to change. "Well, where is he?"

"Where is who? Oh… you mean Goodbody." Starsky shrugged. "Back in Hollywood, I suppose."

"No, I don't mean him." Hutch smiled at his partner. Oh yeah, maybe this day could be salvaged after all. "What did you do with the purse snatcher? Where is he?"

"Purse snatcher? Oh he's… he's… Dammit! I left him in _my car_!" Starsky bolted for the door and dashed down the hall to get to his forgotten prisoner. He accidentally slammed into the kid from the mailroom, sending boxes, folders and letters flying about the hallway. "Soooorrrrryyy!" he hollered as his continued his mad dash.

The others in the room burst out laughing at Starsky's frantic antics.

Hutch snickered. It was about time. Things were defiantly looking up. He happily adjusted his butt in the chair and banged almost merrily away at the keys. Maybe today wasn't such a bad day after all. He hit a few keys with extra flourish and let the smile play across his lips.

"HUTCHISON! Wipe that smirk of your face and get back to work!" Dobey bellowed at him and slammed the door shut. Pictures on the wall rattled.

A slightly larger piece of plaster fell, whacking the blond on the head. It wobbled for a moment and then stayed there. It was perfectly balanced on the simmering detective's head as white plaster snowed down upon him.

The group in the room erupted in laughter once more.

Hutch gave a heavy sigh, his luck _had_ changed.

It had gone from bad, to worse. He left the plaster on his head and continued to type.

XXXX

_Two weeks later _

Hutch looked at the dirty clock on the wall of Huggy's bar. He gritted his teeth. Thank GOD! The longest, worst and most torturous two weeks in his life was finally nearing the end. In just a few minutes, Starsky's stupid commercial would be on and then he would not hear another thing about it. He had made Starsky promise, that if he helped him to learn his lines, Starsky would have to shut up after it aired. His friend could not mention his damn 'big break' ever again.

Hutch raised his glass and nodded at one of the guys from Robbery division as the guy strolled in. The blond swiveled around on the bar stool and leaned back against the bar to look at the crowd. Nearly everyone from Metro was there. Even Dobey. It had taken him three whole days before his captain had gotten off of his tail about the late report… and the incomplete reports.

Starsky had been Dobey's and the chief's golden boy these past two weeks. Hutch sipped his beer and examined his emotions. Why was he so upset about Starsky having a bit of luck?

"_Because"_ a snide little voice in his head whispered back "_you ARE jealous, just like he's accused you of being. And you hate it when that happens." _Hutch nodded in agreement.

'Why does he put up with me?' the blond detective thought sullenly'I've had been being a pain in the ass for a while now. Why can't I just be happy for him?'

"_Because you're afraid he's gonna leave you behind, just forget all about you, that's why."_ The little voice of reason sneered back.

"Shut up" Hutch snapped back at his conscience. That pesky damn thing was worse then Dobey sometimes. Starsky had helped him finish his reports, listened to him bitch about Dobey, about work and about a hundred other things. And what does he do? Puts a limit on Starsky's right to gloat about one stupid, stinking little commercial spot that was playing, locally, at dark thirty in the morning, on a channel Hutch had never even hear of before.

'_You're mean, you know that? You're just mean!'_ Those words weren't from Hutch's conscience; they were from Starsky. He had said them right after Hutch had given him the ultimatum for helping him learn his lines.

_Some friend I am. I really need to apologize and let him know I am happy for him_. Feeling better about himself then he had in the last couple of weeks, Hutch scanned the crowd looking for his best friend. An arm dropped over his shoulders, and there was Starsky, with a big drunken grin on his face.

"Ha'llooo –_hiccup_- Huush! Tha' a smiiile on your facesh? 'or you jush happy ta –_hiccup_- see mee?" Starsky tilted drunkenly from side to side.

Hutch reached out to steady the inebriated man and had to blink at the intensity of the beer-washed breath. Starsky was not into his cups; he was well into his pitchers. Hutch decided to cut himself off of his self-pity drinks, one of them had to stay sober and it would likely be days before his friend would recover from this one.

"I wash begin _–hiccup-_ begin _–hiccup-_ beginning ta worry _–hic-hic-hiccup-_ tha't ya din't like me no more." The curly haired detective drunkenly reached up his cup free hand to pat his friends face. Beer sloshed out and onto Hutch's shoes. "I'm _-hiccup_- show shorry!"

Hutch took the beer glass mug out of Starsky's left hand and set it on the counter. His drunken friend was still staring at the puddle of spilled beer around Hutch's feet when he turned back around. The blond suddenly became very worried that soon there would be more then spilled beer on his shoes. "Here Starsk, take my seat." He switched placed with his inebriated friend.

Starsky stared solemnly back at him "Only a good frien' –_hiccup_- would shu-mpin' like tha't … I LOVE YOU MAN!" Starsky bellowed out "Thish here ish th' best friend a guy could ever _–hic_- ever –_hic-_ have." He proceeded to pound Hutch on the back until the brunet nearly fell off his bar stool from his efforts.

The crowd around them burst out laughing.

Hutch patted his pal on the shoulder, "Yeah, love you too pal." Starsky had his 'beer volume' turned all the way up. Hutch shook his head, just what was the ingredient in beer that made drunken men shout things at the top of their lungs? Scratch that, he knew what it was, it was alcohol.

Huggy collected Starsky's beer mug and stayed to wipe down the bar, "Well Blondie, looks like you're gonna have to pour that partner of yours into the Torino after this shindig is over." Huggy gestured in the direction of all the off duty police officers, "And if Starsky here keeps making commercials and holdin' his 'premier parties' here, I ain't gonna be of any use to you as an informant. It'd be kinda hard to keep my ear to the streets for you two if I gotta keep my nose clean do the proximity of the long of o' the law, you dig?"

Hutch snorted, "What make you think there's gonna be anymore commercials Huggy?"

Hutch shot a quick look at his partner to see if he heard and noticed Starsky was currently occupied with chatting to Sheila from R&I. He rolled his eyes, some things never changed.

But what if Huggy was right? What if this commercial was just the beginning for Starsky? Wasn't that what had been the thing that was really bugging him these last two weeks? The very real possibility that Starsky's life - and consequently, his life- could suddenly and completely diverge? Where would that leave him?

Huggy was very streetwise and knew a snow job when he saw one. Starsky might not be feeling any pain right now, do to his inebriated state, but Hutch certainly was. He gave Hutch a skeptical look. "Stranger things have happened."

The bar owner looked at the dirty wall clock "Well my blond friend, it's just about time for that commercial to be on." He then raised his voice to be heard over the din of the busy bar. "Yo! Listen up! Starsky's commercial is gonna be on in five minutes, last call!"

Thirsty people pushed their way to the bar to get one last drink before the show. Huggy turned the jukebox off and turned the sound up on the small color TV.

Hutch felt the sharp jab of an elbow to his ribcage and turned to see who had jabbed him. His eyes met with Starsky's. His friend was grinning at him. Hutch shook his head in exasperation and rubbed his bruised side. Well, if this was truly Starsky's big break, who was he to ruin it for his friend by being a grumpy pain in the ass?

He returned Starsky's grin. Whatever happened, he was determined to be happy for his best friend. He wouldn't be much of a friend otherwise. Lord knows he hadn't been much of one lately. Hutch could feel the smile on his broaden, and for the first time in two weeks, felt good about himself and his best friend's recent run of good luck.

"Shhh! Shut up everybody!" Sheila hollered. "Shut up or we'll miss it!"

Huggy turned the TV's sound up as far as it would go.

The crowd quieted down enough for it to be heard throughout the crowed room.

'_Bein' a cop ain't easy. Workin' on the mean streets of Bay City can be down right dangerous.' _Starsky was in the uniform of a regular Bay City police officer; he strolled around causally around the end of a black and white. _'So when duty calls, I don't have time to be slowed down by life's aches and pains' _He opened the squad's door _'or any other of life's little problems.'_ He slid into the driver's seat and hit the lights and siren, before squealing the tires and doing an impressive slide around a corner as though he were in hot pursuit of criminal.

"Hey Starsky, you're a natural!" Someone yelled. Whistling erupted, hands clapped.

"SHUT UP! I can't hear the rest of what they're sayin'" Another person hollered back.

Only when the noise died back down, it wasn't Starsky's voice, it was some guy with a rich baritone '…_So when one of Bay City's finest has hemorrhoids, he reaches for_ Shrink It, _the most powerful hemorrhoid cream you can buy without a prescription! Buy some today and shrink those annoying hemorrhoids_ _away! _Shrink It_ is a product of Smythe and Smythe. Found only in Walter's, Pharmco and other local fine retailers near you!'_

For several long seconds, silence reined supreme in the bar. Then the place erupted into a riot of hoots, hollers and peals of laughter.

Hutch looked at Starsky, who in turn was looking at the TV with a dumbstruck look on his face. _'He didn't know!_' As unlikely as it seemed, Starsky had apparently hadn't known what he was hawking in that commercial. He felt his own face redden with anger and embarrassment for his friend.

Starsky slid off the barstool and stood up as straight as his drunken legs would let him.

Hutch stood beside him, balled up his fists and made ready to do some damage on his fellow cops for laughing at his friend and his unfortunate commercial. He snuck a look and noticed that Starsky was shaking.

The brunet threw back his head and burst out laughing, right along with everyone else.

There was nothing else for Hutch to do but join in.

After nearly everyone in the bar had made their bad jokes, the duo threw an arm around each other's shoulders started for the door.

As they approached the Torino, Starsky stopped.

"What is it Starsk?"

"I'm sush an idiot Hush. I thought it was for pain –_hiccup_- medicine, ya know?"

"I know buddy, I know. I read your lines to you enough times." Hutch ran a hand tiredly through his fine blond locks as he fought off a yawn.

Starsky slowly shook his head, "They're never gonna lemme forget thish, are they Hush?"

"'Fraid not. But look on the bright side, you got paid." Hutch clapped him on the back.

"Thash's just the thing. I don't have the money _–hiccup-_"

"You don't?"

"Nope."

"What happened to it? They paid, you right?"

"'Course they paid me. Or wanted to, but we can't take gratuities ya know… remember that little old lady that got her purse snatched? She got hurt and she's all alone in thish world." Starsky shook his head sadly.

Right now Hutch felt lower then the gum that was stuck to the sole of his shoe. "You gave her the money, didn't you?"

"Thash the only reason I agreed ta do that stupid commercial. I _like_ bein' a cop. I like workin' wish _–hiccup_- you to mucsh ta give it up." The brunet's expression brightened and he staggered towards his car.

Hutch grabbed his elbow and steered him from the driver's side to the rider's side and buckled him in, by the time Hutch made it back to the driver's side, Starsky was snoring softly, his head resting on the passenger side window.

Unable to resist, Hutch reached over and ruffled the curly locks before starting the car up. As he pulled away from the bar he began to sing the 'Tigger' song, but he changed one word of it. "The wonderful thing about Starskys is Starskys are wonderful things…"

Hutch knew he was very lucky to have a wonderful thing like Starsky in his life.

**The End**

Some of you may know where I got the idea for the commercial from -'Lethal Weapon 2'- Only instead of a condom commercial, I made it a hemorrhoid one. As far as I know, there is no such brand as 'Shrink It'.

14


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